


Skyscraper Hearts

by ingthing



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Bad Jokes, Coincidences, Come Swallowing, Depression, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Facials, Happy Ending, Hong Kong, M/M, Morning After, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Poodles, Porn With Plot, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn, Surprises, Vicchan Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-11-18 13:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11291517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingthing/pseuds/ingthing
Summary: They meet on a damp Friday night at a restaurant on the high-rise lined hills of Hong Kong.From that moment forward, they're entangled.A rom-com Victuuri AU full of coincidences. Tags to be added!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I set out to write an AU fic with smut in it, and ended up with this!
> 
> The working title for this fic was "the Ultimate Ingrid Indulgence AU," which means it's full of fluff, smut, bad jokes, and poodles. 
> 
> It's also set in Hong Kong: my home city! It was fun complaining about the humidity and weird summer rain.
> 
> Many thanks to Ebi, Mim, Kimi, Ves, Lii, and Sachi for enabling this! Special thanks to Sachi for also going through my writing with a fine-toothed comb— gotta love that constructive criticism.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this!

Hong Kong is new.

It's foreign, vast, and stifling— and not just from the breath-crushing humidity or the culture gap.

Yuuri's lived here almost _eight months_ , and he still can't seem to get the hang of anything. The language is okay, considering he knows how to read some Chinese and can get by on his verbal knowledge of Mandarin— he has a bit of a penchant for languages, being a translator. 

But in terms of having an exciting life living in a new city?

In terms of that, he's _not_.

That's just according to Phichit, though. Being roommates with such a social butterfly makes Yuuri's life pale in comparison, and it doesn't help that his job is less exciting, either. Phichit gets to go to cool new restaurants and music festivals— he went to one called " _Cockenfap_ " or something, and Yuuri probably heard that wrong, but it's become enough of a running joke that he doesn't think he needs to correct himself. Although Yuuri gets to meet some interesting people, translation isn't as glamorous or exciting a career. His "exciting stories" consist of funny typos and minor office gossip. Phichit's stories involve people getting shitfaced and running onto the field at the _Rugby Sevens or_ meeting local celebrities— how he tells them apart, Yuuri doesn't know. 

So it's really not a surprise that Phichit's insisting on dragging him out of the house tonight.

"I only have 49 more XP points to go till I level up in _Minecraft!"_ Yuuri protests weakly from his desk chair as Phichit rifles through his closet.

"XP? How about _actual_ experience?" Phichit shoots back, pulling out the gray cotton button-up he insisted Yuuri get on sale on one of their rare shopping trips. "You rarely get out of the house!"

"Well, there's _Vicchan_ to think about." On cue, Yuuri's dog trots over from his spot in the corner of Yuuri's room, jumping off on his hind legs as Yuuri hoists him into his lap. "I can't just leave him all alone on a Friday night, can I, boy?" 

Vicchan probably doesn't understand a word of Yuuri's cooed excuse, panting happily as he is, and Phichit isn't fooled.

"You know both your puppy eyes don't work on me," Phichit grins much too slyly. He tosses the hanger onto Yuuri's bed and turns his attention to the folded stack of pants in the corner of his closet. "Where are the jeans that make your butt look good?"

"At the bottom _,_ " Yuuri mutters, hugging Vicchan with both arms as he resigns himself to his fate. Phichit snickers, never one to miss a butt joke, and Yuuri adds, "because I _never wear them."_

"Well, you're gonna wear them now! Now get dressed, we're going for dinner. And drinks. And maybe some dancing!" Phichit declares. "What happened to Yuuri 'Eros' Katsuki, demon of the dance floor?" 

Yuuri winces. "That was _college_. And we're not dancing."

Phichit's smile grows wider. "But you'll have dinner and drinks?" 

"Sure, yeah, whatever." Yuuri sighs, lowering Vicchan to the floor and ushering Phichit out of his room. "The rain's stopped, so let me walk Vicchan and change and then we can go."

"Great! There's this new Italian place on Second Street I've been _dying_ to try." Phichit grabs his phone and almost prances to his own room next door, clearly about to begin his _Yuuri's-coming-outside-with-me-and-it's-gonna-be-lit!_ dressing and eyeliner routine. 

_That should take him about 45 minutes,_ Yuuri estimates as he clips Vicchan into his leash. Just enough time to walk Vicchan out and back, get dressed, clean his glasses, and mentally prepare himself for whatever Phichit has in store.

Phichit _always_ has a plan.

They leave around 50 minutes later, Phichit having had a difficult time with his new lace-up platform sneakers.

Mercifully, the new restaurant Phichit found (probably through his job at a popular lifestyle magazine) is close by, and it's a short three block walk down from their apartment on Third Street. It's right next to the supermarket Yuuri goes to sometimes— maybe they can get some groceries on the way back from dinner.

 _Two drinks,_ Yuuri tells himself as Phichit requests bar seats for two. _Two drinks, or else I'm going to want to die tomorrow morning._

Varying alcohol contents aside, Yuuri's determined that two reasonably sized drinks are a safe threshold for a regret-free night out. One, and there's not enough of a buzz. Three, and he might send some unsavory texts and/or drunkenly flirt with people he has no interest in. Two drinks is enough for Yuuri to let loose but not forget all sense of social etiquette, and Yuuri is setting that boundary for himself _right_ now.

They're seated quickly, and the service is pretty fast— perks of going to a new restaurant, Yuuri supposes. 

There's not a _massive_ turnout considering it's a Friday night, which is sometimes a problem in a city populated to the brim with, like, _seven million_ people. When Yuuri first got here, he noted how tall all the buildings were, but it makes sense now— without building up, there'd never be enough space for everyone. He's never lived in a building taller than five floors in his life, not in Japan or in the States, but now he lives on the _fourteenth_. It doesn't help that the elevator is old and sluggish, but at least there are two so if one breaks down he doesn't have to drag himself up the dusty stairwell. 

The area he and Phichit live in is nice; it's an older part of Hong Kong built along the slope of a hill. There are a lot of old buildings and the wet (and frankly kind of skeevy) market is nearby, but new restaurants pop up all over the place, making sure that his meals are taken care of. Most importantly, his apartment is close to the train station and his building allows dogs. Yuuri sighed in relief when he read on a _Living In Hong Kong_ _For Expats_ website that he could bring Vicchan with him with the right fees and paperwork. It took a while to settle in, but it was relatively easy to.

Time flew, and now it's the middle of the sweltering summer Yuuri's heard so much about— an odd mix of bright, humid days and hot, tropical rainstorms. Though the recent torrential rain and overcast sky have cooled the city down, almost every store in Hong Kong still keeps the air conditioner (or, "air con," as most Hong Kongers call it) at a low, low sixteen degrees celsius. It's better than bathing in sweat, but every surface in this restaurant feels like ice to his summer-warmed skin.

"Yuuri, are you ready to order?" Phichit prods from the bar seat next to him. Shit, Yuuri's barely looked at the menu.

"Uh, could you come back later?" Yuuri asks the waitress, sheepishly swallowing down too big of a gulp of the rum and coke he ordered when they arrived. "I'm not done looking." He only lets the burn from his cocktail show when she turns away with a curt "take your time" and can't see him gag.

Phichit can, though, and he bursts out laughing, turning to face Yuuri and give him a pat on the back. "Are you okay?"

"Ugh," Yuuri winces, setting his half-empty glass down. There's a sting at the back of his throat from the cold alcohol. "I'm okay. Just… you surprised me." Phichit doesn't respond, oddly enough, and Yuuri sees that his gaze is locked somewhere behind them. "What are you looking at?"

At Yuuri's prompting, Phichit turns back to the bar, grabbing Yuuri's shoulder to pull him close.

"W-what?" Yuuri murmurs instinctively since they're huddled together.

"Okay, brace yourself-" Phichit pauses for dramatic effect. "This guy just walked in, alone, and he's _totally_ your type."

"I have a type?" Yuuri can't even remember— he doesn't usually think about it.

"Yeah! You told me that night we got drunk after you didn't know you were asked out." Phichit reminds Yuuri. "I mean, you pointed to a _lot_ of people in that month's _People_ magazine, so I had to narrow it down to…" Yuuri raises an eyebrow as Phichit thinks, and he seems to come up with an answer. "I narrowed it down to guys who look like _Prada_ models and wear plain, tight-fitting t-shirts. Hey, don't roll your eyes at me!" Phichit adds, when Yuuri takes a long sip of his drink and glances upward. 

_Sure_ , Yuuri thinks sarcastically, _tooootally my type. Like, personality doesn't matter or anything._ He's pretty sure that he could be sitting right next to whoever Phichit's talking about and not feel an ounce of _anything._ No intrigue, no _fire between his loins_ , nothing— they've been over this before, about Yuuri just not getting the whole sexual attraction thing, and Phichit still doesn't seem to understand if their conversation now is any indication. 

"Just _peek_ at him. Please? I promise it'll be worth it." Phichit pleads, tilting his head and pouting. "He's wearing a _v-neck_."

"Fine, one peek," Yuuri mutters back, leaning away from Phichit as his friend beams (Yuuri does like the way v-necked tops look, and Phichit keeps using this to his advantage), "but only because I know you won't stop telling me to unless I do."

He should be fast and discreet about it— there's nothing worse than making eye contact with a complete stranger because they can sense your intent from across the room— but Yuuri can't be _too_ fast, or else he risks making it look intentional, which it _is_ , but it should be casual. Yuuri turns and looks across the horizon to act like he's looking around to see where the bathroom or their waiter is, and then his eyes land on the man Phichit _must_ be talking about.

There's no way Yuuri's gaze _couldn't_ land on him— he's seated almost directly under a spotlight, fair hair glowing under its beam. He really does look like a model, with long eyelashes and… what Yuuri's sure is a very nice face. Half of it is concealed by long bangs, making the side Yuuri can see all the more striking. He's even wearing a v-neck, just like Phichit said. It's a plain black one, which is arguably the best kind of v-neck. 

"See? Your type. Now quit staring, you'll blow our cover." Phichit nudges Yuuri's arm, joking. Yuuri turns back, shaking his head a little. Okay, yeah— there's no fire in Yuuri's loins, but there's no denying that this v-necked, light-haired, high-cheekboned man is _really_ handsome.

"I don't have a type, but he is good-looking." Yuuri concedes. 

"Right? You should go talk to him!" 

Yuuri furrows his brow. "Why would I do that? He might be waiting for someone."

"He just ordered food. Trust me, I can tell when people are solo." Phichit says. "What's the worst that can happen?"

"The worst that can happen, Phichit, is that he thinks I'm a _creep_ and tells me to get out of his face. He must be alone for a reason, _if_ he is." Yuuri mutters, busying himself with the menu instead. The chicken with lemon couscous would probably taste decent, since he can't decide on anything else and he isn't exactly in an adventurous mood. What does "tapenade" even mean? 

Thankfully, the waitress comes back to take Yuuri's order, and Phichit stares holes into the back of his head the entire time. As she leaves, Yuuri turns back to see Phichit leaned over the ledge of the bar, catching his gaze with an elbow propped on the counter. 

"Do you really think I'd tell you to go talk to a guy who looks like he wants privacy?" Yuuri sighs and picks his glass up as Phichit explains his reasoning. "I can read body language." 

"Okay, so what does mine say?" Yuuri raises an eyebrow, crossing his free hand over his other arm and hunching his shoulders a little to prove his point.

" _Yuuri,_ " Phichit moans as Yuuri takes a petulant sip of his drink. 

"Is this why you wanted to have dinner out tonight?"

"Yuuri, no." Sighing, Phichit puts his mojito down. "I didn't bring you out just to hook you up. You don't really express interest in anyone, so I thought maybe, since you think he's good-looking, you could just _chat_ or something. I don't know."

"Sorry," Yuuri apologizes, a little ashamed at his assumption. He relaxes his shoulders again. "I'm just not _you_. I can't strike up conversation with people I don't know. What would I even say?"

"Just start by asking if he's alone!" Phichit encourages. "Simple as that."

Yuuri hums, unsure. "I think I need another drink before I can even _think_ about going over there."

"That's the spirit!" Phichit grins, smacking Yuuri a little too hard on the back and making him sputter. "Just go with the flow."

"With the flow. Right." Yuuri murmurs, looking away. Maybe if they don't talk about it, Phichit will forget about getting him to talk to a complete stranger.

Phichit doesn't forget. Yuuri's barely half done with his second drink, some conversation and a dish of bar peanuts later, when Phichit gets that excited gleam in his eye again.

" _Soooo,_ " he lilts, smiling at Yuuri expectantly, "feeling more up to talking to him now?"

"I'm tipsy, but not _that_ tipsy." Yuuri says, frowning. 

Phichit shrugs. "You never know if you don't try!"

"That goes for you, too," Yuuri takes another gulp before placing the glass down. "How do you know he'll actually be interested without talking to him yourself?"

"You just gotta _believe_ , Yuuri!" 

"I'll believe it when it happens." Yuuri scoffs, but he pauses at a realization. Regardless of his disbelief, Phichit will keep trying to get him to come out of his comfort zone— maybe he should take the plunge and prove he's terrible with pick-up lines once and for all. 

Yuuri purses his lips in determination, and Phichit makes a questioning noise. "You know what? I'll do it," Yuuri decides. "I'll go over there, and if he _isn't_ interested and doesn't want to talk, you're doing all the dishes for the next week."

If he proposed this to any other person, they might call the bet off, but Phichit just smiles even wider, exuberant because Yuuri's _actually_ going to do what he suggested. The possibility of having to do the dishes for an entire week apparently doesn't outweigh that. "Okay! So if I'm right, you're taking the trash out for the next _two_ weeks." Phichit chirps, ever eager.

"Fine," Yuuri agrees. The odds of a stranger— a ridiculously attractive one, at that— actually being interested in him are slim, at best. "What did you say to do? Just go up and ask if he's alone?"

"Yep! But wait, before you go," Phichit holds Yuuri back as he prepares to hop off the bar stool. Reaching for his shirt, Phichit undoes the top two buttons so that the collar falls open to reveal a little of Yuuri's throat and proceeds to brush some of Yuuri's bangs to the side. "Okay, perfect! Go get him, Yuuri!" He cheers quietly, watching intently as Yuuri steps off his seat and straightens up. He tries to ignore the alcohol flush hot on his cheeks and the quickening of his heart.

Well, here goes nothing.

Yuuri weaves through the tables over to the man, thankful that he's not looking his way. It'd be awkward to be seen coming over. As Yuuri approaches, it's surreal to realize exactly how _stunning_ this man is. He was handsome before but, closer up, he's strong yet ethereal and maybe it's the drink in Yuuri's system but it feels like there's something more under the surface. 

The stranger hears Yuuri coming, turning a little to observe curiously as Yuuri comes to a stop in front of him. _His eyes are really blue_ , Yuuri notes, almost forgetting to speak. There's no way this man isn't a model of some sort. 

"Hi," Yuuri says, mouth suddenly feeling very dry. "Are you here alone?"

The man tilts his head up, his hair falling to the side with the movement, and _oh_ , the other half of his face is just as perfect as the first. _What the hell?_

"I am," he replies, offering a small smile. It graces his lips nicely, and Yuuri gets distracted by it. "Did you need something?"

"No, just," Yuuri gapes, pausing to swallow and shove one hand into his pants pocket. He can't believe this _Greco-Roman statue_ of a man is actually listening to him. "I should have known. I don't think anyone could stand up someone so…"

The man raises an eyebrow, and even _that_ is perfect. "So…?" 

He doesn't look… disdainful, or annoyed, or _anything_. He honestly seems intrigued. 

"So _beautiful_." Yuuri murmurs in disbelief, wide-eyed behind his glasses. 

Those mesmerizing eyes widen, mouth falling open just enough to show the man's surprise. If there's a blush dusting his cheeks, it's washed out by the light, but Yuuri swears there's _something_ there. He can't do much more than stare.

"Oh," the man blinks, clearly not expecting the compliment. A moment later, his smile returns, wider than before. "Thank you, I'm flattered." 

"You're… You're welcome," Yuuri manages to reply, nodding curtly and curling his pocketed hand into a fist. He's going to have to take the trash out for the next two weeks after all. 

Yuuri doesn't even realize that he's been staring silently at the stranger for the past few seconds until he creases his brows, confused by the silence. Is Yuuri blushing from the alcohol or the embarrassment? It's probably both, now.

"I… Well…" He says, suddenly very lost for words. "Have a good night."

Yuuri nods to the stranger again, suddenly very self-conscious, and turns to walk back to his seat at the bar.

Phichit watches him come back, and he searches Yuuri's dazed expression for some kind of indication of how things went. Taking ambiguity as an answer, Phichit's face falls. "You were barely there five minutes; did he tell you to go away?"

"No, I…" Yuuri frowns, shocked. "I think he _liked_ it."

And Yuuri's right— he did.

 

* * *

 

In all of Victor Nikiforov's years, he's _never_ been propositioned like this. 

He's confused through the entire encounter. He was confused from the dark-haired man's first appearance, he was confused by his sudden, breathless compliment, and he's confused by his curt goodbye. Victor has seen many things in his life and he believes there are few things that can faze him now, but clearly, he's _surprised_. 

He's beginning to like Hong Kong. 

He hasn't been here long. He arrived a week ago and, in his tradition of setting foot into new cities, he'd prepared to take a deep lungful of new air upon stepping out the glass airport doors. 

That first lungful must have been at least 90% _water,_ according to the insane humidity percentage shown on his phone screen,and it certainly set the tone for the week ahead. Photos of Hong Kong from his research showed postcard-perfect blue skies and cloudless nights with dazzling neon-lit skyscrapers shining in the dark. Of course, he'd read up on the weather information, but he hadn't expected so much dreary rain through the week. 

The weather, combined with struggling with jet-lag, having to settle into his new flat, and adjusting to a new working environment all contributed to an absolutely awful first impression of his new city. Tonight is the first night the sky has cleared significantly, and Victor had decided to go out and explore instead of moping at home because his poodle hasn't cleared customs yet.

Exploring hadn't been a mistake, considering this interesting encounter. 

He can't do anything but watch as the stranger leaves, and Victor closes his slackened mouth again when he notices the tight jeans he's wearing. Victor appreciates fine works of art, and that man's ass could _definitely_ be considered one. 

Sighing, Victor snaps a piece off the complimentary _grissini_ on his bread plate and puts it in his mouth. The man had left so suddenly, and Victor almost regrets not inviting him to sit down on the empty chair across him. But if the encounter had been awkward for the stranger, maybe it was for the better that Victor didn't push it— it'll certainly make for a great story, but it's still disappointing that they couldn't learn more about each other. 

Perhaps he thought too soon— to Victor's continued shock, the man is _returning_ , and of all the things Victor expected, he never expected _that_.

What an unusual person.

There's a sheepish expression on the man's face as he comes up to Victor, and Victor swallows his bite, looking up at the other man expectantly. "So you've returned," he jokes, "what could it be this time?"

"Sorry to bother you again," he says timidly, and it's such a difference from when he marched over and asked if Victor was alone that Victor has to suppress a chuckle. "I was wondering if, well- I'm Yuuri." Yuuri says, and Victor likes the way his name sounds. It's similar to his cousin's name, but it's different somehow. "Can I have your name? Only if you're okay with that, of course."

Yuuri is so shy— or reserved, perhaps. It's endearing that he felt the need to assure Victor he could choose whether or not to reveal his _name_. It's a refreshing change from the inconsiderate personalities Victor encounters on a daily basis in the hotel industry.

"It's Victor," he tells Yuuri, looking up to get a better view of him. _Yuuri_. He's unmistakably flushed with drink, but he's cute, with large brown eyes and strong, angled brows. Seeing such polar opposites in behavior from one person in the span of less than ten minutes is certainly new to Victor, and he's curious to learn more. "Are _you_ here alone?" Victor asks, "this is a two-person table, after all, and I could use some company."

Yuuri seems surprised at the invitation— curious, considering he asked Victor if _he_ was alone first. He hesitates to answer, looking back in the direction he came from, searching the restaurant for his bar seat and friend. Victor follows Yuuri's gaze to find his friend pointing at his own phone— following suit, Yuuri takes his own phone out, the worry in his expression softening at whatever's on the screen. A message from his friend, most likely, Victor notes, and he flashes a smile in their direction.

Yuuri bows his head politely as he pulls the seat across from Victor out and sits in it; almost as soon as he does, a waitress comes over bearing a plate of food and a near-finished drink that Yuuri's friend must have told her to bring over. "Ah, 唔該晒[1]," Yuuri murmurs, like he's sorry to have made extra work for her. Victor picks up that he said "thank you" from his mediocre Cantonese phrasebook knowledge. It's very confusing— there are apparently _two_ different forms of "thank you," to be used in different contexts. Victor has yet to pick that up, but it seems that Yuuri has it down just fine.

"Do you know Cantonese, Yuuri?" Victor asks lightly, touching his lip thoughtfully.

"N-Not at all," Yuuri shakes his head, denying the very idea. "I only know the basics. I haven't lived here long, so…"

"Oh, you're from out of town? So am I!" Grinning, Victor replies. "Though I suppose I should have guessed, considering your English is quite good."

"Thanks," bashfully, Yuuri nods. "I lived in America for a while- my coworkers make fun of my English, though." 

"Wow, really?"

"British English is the norm, here." Yuuri straightens a little, visibly relaxing with the conversation. "I think they teach it in the local schools. They make fun of my accent, mostly." 

"That must be frustrating," Victor nods gratefully to the waiter who brings him his food as he replies. "What a tiny thing to pick on."

"You get used to it." Yuuri looks down at his plate as he cuts a strip of chicken, smiling to himself as he continues, "I just begin replying in Japanese when it happens— that way, they can't understand me." 

Victor rests his fork on the rim of his plate, enthused by the thought of the quiet man before him indignantly using _Japanese_ to discourage coworkers' teasing. "English, Cantonese, Japanese— that's impressive, Yuuri!"

"And Mandarin," Yuuri adds. "I translate for a living— it's part of the job."

"I'm envious," Victor admits. "I'd love to learn some Chinese. I know Russian and French, but haven't been in Asia long enough for full immersion."

"Russian and French…" Yuuri muses. "You… said you were from out of town? Where were you before?"

"I moved around Europe for quite some time. I was in Paris, last." Victor explains. "Pardon my accent."

"Oh, no, I was just wondering, since you said you know Russian and French!" Yuuri gestures with his hands. "It's… I don't mind it."

"Good," Victor smiles in response, turning his attention to the food in front of him instead. As much as he'd like to talk, his stomach is growling from the long wait for his dinner. Yuuri follows suit, picking at his own dinner. He finishes off the rest of his drink a little too fast, clearing his throat to alleviate the burn, and Victor can't suppress a laugh.

"Do you like White Russians?" He asks, a grin still wide on his face. Yuuri looks puzzled.

"Are you Russian, Victor?" He asks carefully, making Victor's cheeks hurt as he tries not to laugh. "I mean, it's not that I don't like Russians, but-"

"No, no, the _drink_ ," Victor clarifies, chuckling. "I was about to order one for myself. Let me buy you one?"

"Oh," Yuuri blushes _adorably_. "Then sure."

To tell the truth, Victor finds the cocktail a tad sweet and he prefers his with milk and not cream, but he's White and Russian, which makes it a good pick-up line. Yes, a _pick-up line_ — though Yuuri thwarted his follow-up by getting to it first, he accepted Victor's offer. There seems to be so much more than meets the eye to Yuuri, and Victor is eager to see it. Victor places the order with his waiter.

"Have you been in Hong Kong long, Yuuri?" Victor brings up, curious. Most likely, everyone in his immediate surroundings has been in Hong Kong longer than he has, but it doesn't hurt to ask.

"About eight months, I think. I lose track sometimes."

"You must know much more about the city than I do, then. This is the end of my first week here." 

"Well, maybe. I really don't go out much." Yuuri admits. "Work is busy, and all I want to do when I get home is sleep. You might know more than I do."

"Really? You just go to work and back?" Victor remarks. "You could have fooled me. I would have guessed you go to the gym, too, considering— and this may be too forward of me— you do have a very nice… _physique_." 

"Uh, thanks." Yuuri replies, barely embarrassed. "I try and work out at least once a week— and I've been told I do. The jeans help, don't they?" There's an upturn to Yuuri's lips, and Victor finds himself speechless. 

Where on earth did this confidence spring from? It's utterly disarming. Their drinks arrive before Victor can find a suave answer. "Yes, they do— I see that you're aware of your assets." He raises an eyebrow approvingly.

"Assets. Yeah." Yuuri repeats, his smile growing wider. "My _ass_ -ets."

It takes a second for Victor to register the pun, and he gasps. Now that it's apparent that he's understood Yuuri's joke, Yuuri bursts into laughter, and it's such _beautiful_ laughter. It's unbridled and infectious, and Victor finds himself laughing harder than he has in quite some time. It almost brings tears to his eyes, but it's hard not to stare at the impromptu company in front of him— Yuuri's cheeks must be hurting, but he looks like he's having so much _fun_. 

"I walked right into that one, didn't I?" Victor concedes breathlessly.

"You _so did_ ," Yuuri agrees, bringing the cocktail up to his mouth and sipping it. "It's okay, you can say I have a nice butt."

Unwilling to be outdone, Victor meets Yuuri's gaze. "Well then, you have a nice butt."

"Thanks." Yuuri blinks, surprised by the sudden eye contact, but then pauses and frowns. "I can't… I don't know if you have a nice butt since you've been sitting this whole time, but I'm sure you have a nice butt too." He reassures Victor.

"Why, thank you! I've been told my jeans help."

Victor honestly can't help the grin that spreads across his face as Yuuri starts laughing _again_. The man has definitely had more to drink than Victor has, and Victor almost wants to catch up to him, just to see if he can have as much fun as Yuuri is— not to say that he isn't having the time of his life right now, but maybe if he could cut looser… 

Victor has an impressive alcohol tolerance, but it wouldn't hurt to see where another drink or two leads.

They latch onto the topic of the awful humidity when a gust of air from the air conditioner makes them shudder, segue into sympathizing about the noisy night traffic after a loud honking from the parked cars on the curb, and even discover their mutual love for poodles when a pedestrian walks past the restaurant with a fluffy apricot-colored dog on a leash. Victor finds himself leaning forward, going from leaning back on his chair to sitting at its edge, his elbows propped on the table. 

They're interrupted when Yuuri's friend from the bar comes by and taps him on the shoulder. Like being awakened from a daze, Yuuri looks up, Victor following suit, and he tilts his head. "Phichit? Wha... What's up?"

"I'm kind of tired, so I think I'll head out!" Phichit tells Yuuri. He yawns loud enough that Victor can tell it's fake, but Yuuri seems none the wiser. 

Yuuri checks his phone, and raises his eyebrows. "It's only nine-thirty; you sure?" He sounds surprised— maybe Phichit tends to stay out late. 

"Yeah, you two have fun! And don't worry about dinner— I got you covered, Yuuri!"

"What? Oh, thanks," Yuuri mumbles sheepishly. "Pay you back later." 

"What are friends for?" Phichit chirps. He turns his attention to Victor, grinning. "You should ask Yuuri about his _dance moves_. He's amazing!" 

Yuuri shrinks into his seat, turning even redder as Phichit waves at them both with a laugh and leaves. Victor watches him go, curious to find out what he meant.

"Dance moves, huh?" Victor asks. Yuuri is flushing, and is suddenly very interested in the melting ice cubes in his cup. "What does he mean by that?" 

"Oh..." Yuuri trails off, seeming reluctant to answer. "I used to dance. In college— it was a long time ago, though." 

"Really? Wow, I'd love to see you dance sometime."

"Maybe." Yuuri gives Victor a shy glance, drowning his embarrassment with the remnants of his drink. It puzzles Victor, how many different sides of Yuuri he's seen tonight. Maybe dancing is a sore spot; Victor doesn't want to sour the mood.

"Would you like another drink?" Victor supplies, noting his own emptied glass. "I'll be having the same."

"Sure," Yuuri nods, looking around and raising his hand to get a waiter's attention. "S' Friday."

It's only when they notice that the restaurant has emptied considerably about an hour later that they even consider leaving. Victor is disappointed, really. It's been so much fun talking to Yuuri that he's unwilling to ask their waiter for the check. As he does, he's aware that Yuuri has reached into his own back pocket and pulled his wallet out.

"Don't worry about it, Yuuri— your drinks are on me." Victor states, giving Yuuri a charismatic smile. 

"What? No, I can't- lemme pay for mine." Yuuri insists, shaking his head slowly just as the waiter comes over with a small wooden clipboard with the receipt on it. 

Before Yuuri can see the total on it, Victor hands his credit card smoothly to the waiter. "Can't you accept a White Russian from a White Russian? Let me." 

"Ohmygod," Yuuri groans. "That was... so _bad_."

"I thought it was pretty good," Victor laughs, glad that Yuuri's smiling despite how "bad" the joke was. He signs the receipt, finishes the rest of his drink, and begins to stand from his chair. "Shall we?"

There's an odd expression on Yuuri's face, now that Victor's suggesting they leave. Victor can't quite pinpoint what it is.

As he approaches the entrance of the restaurant, he notices that the glass accordion doors have been drawn closed, and there's the unmistakable patter of rain outside. Victor takes his retractable umbrella from the stand by the doorway.

"Rain?" Yuuri mutters, frowning. He sticks his hand out to see how heavy it is, and retracts it, wiping his fingers on his thigh. "Should've brought an umbrella."

"You don't have one?" Victor asks. There's a little hiccup of hope in his heart— the rainfall is too heavy to attempt sprinting home through, which means there's the possibility they might need to share his umbrella. "Do you live close by?"

Yuuri hums ambiguously, his gaze cast to the side. 

He almost looks… indecisive. Unsatisfied. 

That's exactly how _Victor_ feels. 

Before Victor can say anything, Yuuri looks up at him, shadowed by the light at their backs. "Y'know… I only came up to you cuz I made a bet with Phichit."

"Oh?"

"He said- he said he'd do the dishes for a week if you weren't interested," Yuuri explains, slurring his words as they step out of the restaurant under Victor's opened umbrella. He smiles lazily. "But I'm gonna be taking out the trash for the next two weeks instead."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Victor replies, turning to face Yuuri with the umbrella held between them. "You shouldn't have bet on that at all— you're _far_ too charming."

"You never stood a chance," Yuuri jokes, eyes sparkling with the compliment. 

They lapse into silence for a little while, just searching each others' faces. They haven't been this close up before, and their new proximity isn't lost on Victor. His heart is thudding harder in his chest than it has all night. 

Yuuri's irresistible. 

"Phichit... won't miss you for the night, will he?" Victor asks, tilting his head.

"Maybe." Yuuri mumbles quietly, flushing at the suggestion in Victor's words. "Am I… We're spending it together?"

Victor smiles. "Would you like to?"

He's completely unprepared for the way their hands join on the handle of the umbrella, or the way their _lips_ join. It's chaste and almost sweet, but loaded with promise that sets Victor's hopes aflame. Yuuri pulls away too quickly, rocking back onto his heels and placing his free hand on Victor's arm to steady himself. 

Yuuri nods curtly before confirming his answer with a breathless "let's go."

It's a miracle they don't slip and fall on the steep slope down to the hotel on the next street. They don't manage to avoid getting wet despite the umbrella and they're tracking water into the glittering lobby, but they're all smiles as they retrieve their room key from the receptionist and beeline for the elevators. Yuuri's hand is hot and sweaty in Victor's, but he's pulling Victor along so insistently that that's the last thing on Victor's mind as the elevator doors close. 

Yuuri has Victor's back to the mirrored wall of the elevator, the fabric of his wet t-shirt fisted in his hands as he kisses Victor to steal the breath right out of his mouth. Victor anchors his hands on the swell of Yuuri's jeans, clumsily attempting to keep the umbrella in his grip, and he hopes to god no one walks into the elevator right now. 

It's a long trip up to the 21st floor— long enough for Victor to turn the tide by nipping at Yuuri's ear, for Yuuri to lean more weight against him and let him _feel_ his arousal, and for their moans to overpower the quiet elevator music playing above. They don't, however, miss the "ding" of the elevator as it comes to a stop and opens on their floor, and they part as Victor leads the way to their room. 

As Victor busies himself with the keycard, Yuuri does his best to distract him, pressing flush to his back and wrapping his arms around Victor's waist. His lips are clumsy and wet on the back of Victor's neck, and he's _humping_ , which should feel crass in a hotel hallway, but all it does is make Victor grunt in desperation. _Finally,_ the card goes into its slot, the door unlocking with a whirr. 

The umbrella is dropped in the entryway as they stumble inside, tripping Yuuri and making him land on his awe-inspiring ass. He laughs it off as he gets up again, dissipating Victor's worry as Yuuri pushes him onto the bed.

" _Clothes_ ," Yuuri mutters against Victor's mouth, prompting him to pull Yuuri's shirt up and over his head and making Victor laugh at how it leaves Yuuri's hair and glasses in disarray. The button-up is tossed to the side as Yuuri does the same to Victor, leaving his hair in a similar mess. It's so fun, and Victor is giddy— he even grins, admiring the view as Yuuri struggles to get out of his tight, rain-dampened jeans. 

He realizes partway through that his shoes should probably come off first. Once he kicks them away and yanked his pants off fully, Yuuri focuses his efforts on Victor's belt and fly, undoing them with surprising ease. Victor's only just begun to smooth his hands over Yuuri's chest when Yuuri moves downwards, and Victor protests and slides his hands over Yuuri's shoulders instead. "Yuuri, where are you going?"

"Down." Yuuri replies simply, and Victor snorts. 

"Well, I can see that. What do you plan on doing down there?"

Yuuri pauses, looking up at Victor with his fingers already curled under the waistband of Victor's jeans. "Um," Yuuri frowns, sitting up for a moment before shuffling Victor's jeans down and away. Victor attempts to lift his hips, only managing to aid Yuuri a little. "Well, you're hard. That's... a start." As though to confirm his point, Yuuri palms down the center of Victor's underwear; it makes Victor suck in a breath. 

"That's not an answer." Victor points out, shifting a shin up to press against Yuuri's groin. Yuuri drops his head and moans at the contact, rutting his hips into Victor's leg. Victor smiles, pleased by Yuuri's reaction. "What are you planning, Yuuri? Are you-" 

In one swift motion, Yuuri pulls back from the pressure, parts Victor's legs, and moves between them. Victor loses his train of thought completely, exposed and held still by Yuuri's hands on the insides of his thighs. He can't do much but breathe, enraptured by Yuuri before him.

A glance down at his crotch is Victor's only warning as Yuuri decides he'd rather show and not tell Victor what his plans entail; lowering his head, Yuuri licks slowly up the covered line of Victor's erection. It pulls a disarming moan from him, muscles tensing as the warm press of Yuuri's tongue drags up to the top of the bulge where Victor's soaked through the fabric.

Victor shudders with anticipation as Yuuri stops, lifting his head to gage Victor's reaction. His glasses are askew, but he makes no effort to straighten them. "S'that okay?"

" _Yes._ " Victor breathes, wide-eyed and holding himself back from grabbing Yuuri's hair by gripping the sheets instead. Yuuri's gaze is back down to his crotch again, almost hesitant. Victor scrambles to encourage him. "I'm… I'm clean. Got tested before I moved."

Yuuri gives him a bemused look, not really seeming to register what Victor means, but he nods affirmatively anyway, ducking his head to mouth along the side of Victor's length. His eyes close as he licks all over the front of his briefs and Yuuri looks so engrossed Victor doesn't dare move, afraid to break the spell or wake up from this dream. His impatience gets the better of him and he jolts upwards, panting, after two particularly well placed sucks. 

"Please, _fuck_ , Yuuri-" Victor gasps, beginning to squirm against the firm grip Yuuri has on his hips. Yuuri is strong; there's a smile at his lips as he throws a challenging glance up to Victor, and Victor clams up with a gulp. 

Whatever flushed face Victor has on, it makes Yuuri laugh, and he mumbles something in Japanese before yanking Victor's underwear down and letting his erection spring free. Victor watches helplessly as Yuuri stares at his bared cock, eyes glassy and mouth parted. 

His hand. His mouth. His _touch—_ Victor wants it all _now_ , but Yuuri's not giving _any_ of it to him and it's only been a few seconds, but it feels like a painful eternity. " _Yuuri_." Groaning pleadingly, Victor shifts his hips and grabs Yuuri's wrist with one hand. 

Yuuri blinks up at him, looking much too innocent considering the _torture_ he's putting Victor through. "What?" 

" _Do_ something." Victor grits out, and thankfully, Yuuri does, circling his fingers around the base of his erection before unceremoniously taking Victor halfway down. Victor can't keep his hand out of Yuuri's hair now, gripping it out of instinct as Yuuri licks the underside of his cock. 

The sounds are absolutely obscene, no attempt made to stifle the slurping or create a rhythm, but it's intense and has Victor's skin crawling with need on every stroke. And when Yuuri pulls almost entirely off him, toying at the slit at the head with the tip of his tongue, Victor curses and his nails slide across Yuuri's scalp. Yuuri moans as he takes Victor's saliva-slicked length into his mouth again. 

This time, he attempts to go deeper, and Victor gasps at the sudden clench of Yuuri's throat as he gags. When Victor releases his grip on Yuuri's hair out of worry, babbling some incoherent apology, Yuuri doesn't even let go, instead bobbing his head back down indignantly. 

Yuuri is stubborn, and Victor can hardly keep up. 

It's all he can do to arch back into the mattress and moan, letting Yuuri know how appreciative Victor is of his persistence. It's hot, _insanely_ hot, and Victor finds himself on the cusp of bursting much too soon. "Yuuri, _блядь [2]_— I'm close-"

Yuuri splutters when Victor comes, wincing as his mouth is flooded and leaves him coughing. Victor grips Yuuri's hair hard as he shudders with orgasm, only letting go when Yuuri makes a noise of displeasure. Victor opens his eyes and realizes he came on Yuuri's _face_. 

"Ah, I'm sorry!" Victor sits up, rubbing his palm across Yuuri's cheek. He smears, more than cleans, the cum off him. "I should have given you a better warning."

As he brings his hand away, Yuuri catches it, commanding Victor's attention. Yuuri looks dazed, staring at it for a while, before deciding to lick a broad stripe up the sticky mess. Victor is speechless as Yuuri crinkles his nose and swallows. He throws Victor a dopey smile before pushing himself up and sloppily taking Victor's lips, slipping his tongue between them so that Victor tastes his own cum.

Breaking away and seeing the surprise on Victor's face, Yuuri bursts out laughing like it's the funniest thing he's ever seen. "Looks better than it tastes." He remarks, smirking.

Victor wonders if he's ever thought semen looked _good._

It certainly looks great all over Yuuri's face— so much so that Victor thinks he might want the same treatment. 

Yelping as Victor reverses their positions, Yuuri finds himself pinned to the mattress, Victor straddling his thighs.

"You've surprised me so much tonight." Victor says, leaning forward so his mouth is hot against Yuuri's ear.

"Vic...tor?" Yuuri murmurs, narrowing his eyes when the ceiling light shines too bright at the edges of Victor's shadowed silhouette. 

Victor shifts backwards, sliding his hands off Yuuri's shoulders and down his torso to the waistband of his underwear. "Now, let me return the favor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I think there were a lot of humor gems in this chapter ;)
> 
> I'd love to hear what you guys think of this!
> 
> FOOTNOTES
> 
> 1 **唔該晒** , _mm goi sai_ : "Thank you" in Cantonese (transliterates to "You shouldn't have.")[return to text]
> 
> 2 **блядь** , _blyad_ : "Fuck" or "damn" in Russian (transliterates to "whore.") Thanks to Masha for this edit![return to text]
> 
>   
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri reflects on his White Russian filled night, and Victor is bewildered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is when stuff gets real, folks! I've tagged a few more things, depression and anxiety among them. 
> 
> I wanted to get this up before my flight home today so you'd all get an update before my busy week ahead! 
> 
> **ON UPDATES**
> 
> As you can tell, the chapters for _Skyscraper Hearts_ will generally be around 6-8k in length, while my other ongoing fics ([ _Of Dahlias and Deadlines [General]_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10695813/chapters/23690199) and [_Absolute Truths [Explicit]_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11111097/chapters/24796026)) are shorter per chapter! 
> 
> I won't promise a regular update schedule, but I'll be aiming to get a chapter of fic out once every two weeks. The update rotation will be ODAD, SH, and then AT. I hope you'll enjoy all the stories!
> 
> Thanks to Sachi ([tumblr](http://sachiro.tumblr.com/) | [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sachiro)) for beta-ing this chapter on such short notice, and for helping with the French! 
> 
> I hope you all like this chapter!

Yuuri only wakes because the shower starting sounds like a jackhammer at work next to his head. There's light shining past his eyelids and he groans and rolls onto his back, seeking the cover of the sheets. He stretches his limbs, sprawling out with the blankets over his head. Starfishing in bed is truly one of life's greatest pleasures.

It takes Yuuri far too long to register the reason why he can spread out to his content.

_He's not in his own bed._

Yuuri shoves the sheets down and sits up, grimacing as he adjusts to the morning brightness. He blinks fast, recognizing the vague forms of a TV and some furniture opposite the bed. Right, glasses, glasses. Where are they? They're not on either of the night tables by the bed, but the clunky plastic phone on the table at his side tells Yuuri that he's in a hotel room. A _hotel_ room. Why is he here? Yuuri went out with Phichit last night to a restaurant near their apartment, Yuuri managed to actually talk to a hot guy, and then…

The shower turns off and there's a momentary silence before the bathroom door clicks open, rousing Yuuri from his daze as the hazy figure of _that same guy_ appears from around the corner. His name is… Victor, Yuuri thinks. He can see the skin of Victor's torso, because _Victor's in nothing but a towel_ and Yuuri almost looks away. _Almost._

He must be gaping, because Victor gives Yuuri a coy smile as he brings a hand up to rub another towel into his damp hair.

"Good morning." Victor lilts, coming forward to sit on Yuuri's side of the bed. "Did you sleep well?"

"Um, I..."

Yuuri would continue answering Victor's question if he didn't just realize he's _naked_ under the sheets. His mouth hangs open as he lifts the covers, looks under them, and confirms that _he's completely naked under the sheets._ He puts two and two together.

"Did we… Did we _sleep together?"_ Yuuri croaks, eyes wide.

Victor places a hand on the mattress, leaning over Yuuri's covered legs. "Mm, you could say that." He replies. The grin that spreads across Victor's face is odd— it's complex, amused, and a little rueful at the same time, and dread settles to the bottom of Yuuri's stomach.

_Oh no._

"I'm- _I'msosorry_." Yuuri squeaks, mortified and red-faced.

"Yuuri?"

"Oh my god. I didn't mean- I'll go." Yuuri looks around, unable to find his clothes. "Where…"

"Go? What do you mean you'll go?" Confused, Victor goes to the foot of the bed and gathers Yuuri's clothing off the floor, holding it up to show him before handing the garments over. "Last night-"

"Was probably terrible, wasn't it?" Yuuri interrupts. Clambering to get his underwear and clothes on in the right order without flashing his crotch, a deep furrow forms in his brow. "It's okay, you don't have to say it." He tries to slip his jeans on— _fuck_ , these are the tight pair Phichit made him buy— and gets them on with sheer force before hastily doing the fly up and his shirt on.

"Yuuri, that's not what I-"

Yuuri turns to Victor on his way to the door, lips pursed tight, and Victor stops in the middle of his sentence.

"Thank you for… sleeping with me." Yuuri says, voice wavering as he bows his head, and just like that, he's gone.

 

* * *

 

There's a certain something about leaving the morning after a one night stand without looking the other person in the eye, Yuuri thinks.

That "something" is that it makes Yuuri feel like a total _jerk_.

Who does that? Who just panics because they were probably no good in bed and sprints out the door? _Yuuri Katsuki_ , that's who. Now _there's_ a dramatic story for Victor to tell about his weekend.

Yuuri is antsy as he watches the numbers count down in the elevator. It's covered from floor to ceiling with shiny golden mirrors, and Yuuri can see himself from every angle. Not that he wants to, with his face burning hot with embarrassment.

The elevator finally reaches the lobby, and Yuuri makes a beeline for the double glass doors ahead of him.

He bursts out of the hotel and is immediately attacked by awful, humid heat. At least now Yuuri knows he didn't somehow teleport to another city while drunk last night— Hong Kong is the only place he knows that's this sticky and hot.

"Ah, phone and wallet…" He mutters, patting his pockets. Both are there alongside his keys, much to his relief, and he fishes his phone out to discover he still has some battery left. Thank _god_. A quick search on the device shows Yuuri he's actually not so far from home— just a couple of blocks down from the restaurant they'd gone to last night, and then three blocks away from his apartment building.

Now if only the dryness in his mouth would go away— Yuuri feels awful enough already.

 

* * *

 

After a bit of a climb uphill and a slow, shuddery ride upstairs in his apartment's stuffy elevator, Yuuri reaches his apartment door, feeling ridiculously tired despite having woken up not even an hour ago. He'd probably be less frustrated if he had his glasses, but there's no way Yuuri's going back to that hotel room; he can't remember the room number anyway.

Just how drunk did he get last night? And how far-

He hears Vicchan yapping at the door at the sound of footsteps, and Yuuri fumbles for his keys. He's left Vicchan with Phichit overnight before, but the videos Phichit had sent Yuuri during his short business trip two months ago had broken his heart with how sad his poodle had been.

 _And I didn't even tell Vicchan where I was going this time,_ Yuuri thinks in dismay. Dogs might not understand human language, but it still feels better to give Vicchan a heads up before changing his schedule.

Predictably, Vicchan hones in on the opening door, and his nose, framed by curly apricot fur, peeks between the door and the doorframe. He whines, and Yuuri pushes the door open to be greeted by little puppy pounces and Vicchan's very waggy tail.

"Hi, boy." Yuuri croaks, tongue feeling weird in his mouth. He scoops Vicchan up and slips out of his shoes blindly— it's hard to be precise with your feet when your face is getting licked manically.

Phichit's door is closed and it's hard to tell if he's home, so Yuuri heads straight for his own room and collapses in a heap on his bed. He hisses when his head hits the wall shared by his and Phichit's rooms on the way down. Vicchan, totally oblivious to his master's pain, keeps scrambling all over Yuuri's body and licking his sweaty, oily face over and over. Even when Yuuri feels like complete shit, he can rely on Vicchan to provide comfort. Dogs are _absolutely_ too good for this world.

After a few minutes, Yuuri gets tired of having dog tongue lapping into his nostrils. As much as he loves Vicchan, Yuuri also doesn't appreciate his furnace of a poodle pressed up against his already overheated skin. It takes a while to catch Vicchan and put him onto the small carpet by the bed as he barks insistently, scratching at Yuuri's sheets— Yuuri doesn't know what's worse: the heat or the noise.

"Okay, _fine._ I'll give you a snack." Yuuri agrees begrudgingly. Swinging his legs off the bed takes a great deal of effort, and he lays there for a while before pushing himself up fully. It feels like his brain is liquefied and sloshing around with every movement, and it takes a while for him to trudge to the kitchen, open the treat jar they keep on the counter, and demand Vicchan sit before letting the dog eat.

After chugging a tall glass of water, Yuuri feels a little better. He nearly choked on the water because he tossed it back too far, but there are worse things in life.

_Like when the air conditioner breaks down, or when pizza gets soggy in the fridge, or when the guy you hooked up with last night ditches you without even saying good morning-_

God, Yuuri is a terrible human being.

An exploratory sniff of his own armpit makes Yuuri grimace. He's a terrible human being who also _stinks_. Sweating isn't doing him any favors, that's for sure— a shower is definitely in order. Did he even shower last night? No, he didn't— he wouldn't have woken up so sticky otherwise. Before his mind can dwindle on the previous night any more, Yuuri grabs his robe from the hooks behind his bedroom door and shuts himself in the small bathroom.

He turns the water temperature down a little to compensate for the heat outside, and once he steps in, the shower instantly works its magic. There's just something about soaping up and having water beat down on your head that brings better clarity to your thoughts.

Logically, one night stands are just that— _one night_ stands. They're not called "one night, one morning, and a late brunch" stands. From everything Yuuri's absorbed from American TV shows, they're casual hookups, no strings attached. Sometimes, one night stands don't even _last_ a whole night. It's probably okay to have left the hotel room so suddenly. Probably.

Yuuri's still caught in a weird cycle of guiltily reassuring himself when he decides their water bill has suffered enough that month. He turns the shower off and towels down before ruffling his hair haphazardly and slipping into his bathrobe.

There's a delicious, oily scent to the air of the living area when Yuuri opens the bathroom door, and he pauses in the doorway, feeling his stomach growl. His eyes go to the kitchen and he catches a glimpse of Phichit at the counter.

Phichit turns at the sound of footsteps approaching, and he delivers his brightest smile as Yuuri peers around him to see what's on the stove. There's _the_ most beautiful golden grilled cheese Yuuri's ever seen crisping away in their largest frying pan, and he swallows down some rogue saliva.

"Morning! I heard you come back so I thought you'd be hungry." Phichit chirps, poking at the sandwich with a spatula. "Want me to bring it to you?"

Yuuri says "yes" easily, sitting at their small dining table as he waits. Vicchan runs up to him and rests quietly on Yuuri's feet as Phichit makes his way over with two plates in his hands.

"Have I ever told you you're the best roommate ever?" Yuuri says, reaching his hands out to receive the food.

"Yeah, lots of times!" Phichit confirms. The plate closest to Yuuri barely grazes his fingertips before Phichit raises it out of Yuuri's reach, and Yuuri makes a noise in protest. A bright grin graces Phichit's lips. "You want this _extra gooey, extra cheesy_ Phichit patented grilled cheese, don't you?"

Yuuri gapes in dismay, opening and then closing his mouth helplessly. He furrows his brow. So the food would come at a cost. "What do you want, Phichit?"

" _Details._ "

"Details?" Yuuri repeats.

"Yeah, about last night with Mr. _Exactly-your-type_." Phichit puts the food down in front of his seat at the dining table, holding both plates hostage. "I know you must have stayed the night with him. How'd it go?"

Yuuri hesitates. On one hand, he doesn't want to relive all the build-up to his embarrassing escape. On the other, he really wants that grilled cheese.

The food wins him over. "Fine. Now give me the sandwich." Yuuri gestures towards the plates, and Phichit slides one of them across the table. Yuuri bites into the food with relish, just to check it's as advertised before he actually begins talking. It really is extra gooey and cheesy.

His chewing must be taking a while, because Phichit props his elbows on to the table and leans forward. "Sooo. Details."

"Details." Yuuri agrees, swallowing his bite. It's actually a little difficult to remember the particulars of what he and Victor talked about the previous night. Yuuri could probably attribute that to having already had two drinks by the time he approached the man. "So, uh… you made me go back over to him, and I told him my name. And he said his name is Victor."

"Wow, he even has a nice name." Phichit interrupts. "Continue, continue!"

"Then he invited me to sit down with him, so I did."

"Yeah, and then I texted you and said to go for it! I know this part already. What did you guys talk about?"

"I said thanks in Canto[1] because the waitress brought my food over, and then Victor and I began talking about languages." Yuuri recalls. "So I told him I'm a translator, and he said he knows Russian and French."

"He's hot, trilingual, _and_ European?" Phichit raises his eyebrows. "Damn, I'm good."

Yuuri suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. "And then, well," he pauses, amused by the memory, "he asked if I like _White Russians_."

"Wait. The drink, or- oh my God." Phichit gasps around a mouthful of cheese. "He's _Russian_ , isn't he?"

"I missed the joke— which I guess made him laugh, and then he bought me one. The drink." Yuuri clarifies. "And yeah, he is."

"You ruined that poor man's pick-up line." Phichit cackles. "But that's okay, he still bought you a drink. What happened next?"

"He, uh…" Yuuri trails off, squinting to try and remember what had happened next as he takes another biteful. He stops chewing when he does.

"Yuuri?" Phichit prods, concerned.

Yuuri swallows his bite down, choking more from the memory than the too-big bite. " _My ass_." He rasps, dropping the grilled cheese onto the plate and sandwiching his head in his hands. "He said something about my physique… and _assets_." Yuuri wants to melt into the floor, his face is so hot.

Phichit frowns, processing Yuuri's words before clapping his hands together in triumph. "The jeans! I told you they'd be a good investment!"

"No, they're not. I know you wanted me to get laid or whatever, but it was…" Trailing off, Yuuri hopes Phichit gets the hint that last night wasn't a great experience.

Well, maybe not _last night_ , since what he remembers of it was honestly pretty fun. This morning, however, had been _the worst_ morning, and he thought mornings couldn't get worse than waking up on the beer-soiled carpet of a frat house with permanent marker all over his face. Even that was less embarrassing than finding out he was an awful lay the day after a drunken hook-up.

His silence must be revealing, because Phichit's expression shifts completely. "Aw, I'm sorry, Yuuri. Wanna talk about it?"

Yuuri sighs, casting his gaze aside as he slides his hands down his jaw. "I actually don't… remember a lot of it. I woke up this morning and _freaked out and ran away_. I know, I'm a terrible person."

"You're not terrible!" Phichit gasps, as though he's offended on Yuuri's behalf. "It's totally okay. I would have bolted too, if I woke up in some weird hotel room with some stranger and no memory of what happened the previous night."

"I guess."

"Really, Yuuri. It's _fine._ Look on the bright side!" Phichit continues, waving his hand in the air. "It was a one night thing, and you're home in one piece."

"I was a jerk to him for no reason." Yuuri murmurs. He pales suddenly. "I left him with the hotel bill, didn't I? _God_ , I'm the worst."

Phichit's eyes widen as Yuuri's panic kicks up a notch, and he leans to the side to meet Yuuri's gaze. "Hey, hey. Mistakes happen! There's no use beating yourself up over this. Besides, you probably won't ever see the guy again."

Yuuri hums unhappily, considering Phichit's point. "I suppose. It still feels wrong, though— I should at least have left some money for the room."

Phichit reaches across the table to pat his roommate on the back. "You're too nice, Yuuri. But there's nothing you can do now. You should spend the rest of your weekend relaxing!"

"By 'relaxing', do you mean binge watching _Chopped_ and eating ice cream bars till we burst?" Yuuri cracks a small smile, and Phichit lights up in response.

"We're out of those, but we have a few packs of mochi ice cream. I got them yesterday after dinner."

Ice cream, with its sweet, icy embrace, would be ridiculously good right now. When Yuuri gets up to head for the freezer, Phichit pumps his fist in the air and runs to get his laptop.

After all, nothing cheers Yuuri up more after a rough day than watching professional chefs struggle to combine marshmallows and cod on reality TV.

 

* * *

 

Victor has been speechless for a few hours, and only now, as he arrives at his apartment building, can he muster words to express himself.

It's too bad that he can't say them to the man who inspired them.

The initial shock of Yuuri's departure was confusing at best and hurtful at worst, and Victor had to swallow the lump in his throat to go about his Sunday. He's a strong, independent man who absolutely should not be so affected by a casual partner's rude post-sex behavior.

But alas, Victor laments as he steps out of the slow metal death trap his landlady calls an elevator, he _is._

It's with only a little relief that he opens his door and finds that he'd forgotten to turn the air conditioning off before leaving the house the previous night; the coolness does feel good on his sweltering skin. As popularly believed, Russians don't do so well in extreme heat— Victor is no exception.

The apartment is much smaller than he's used to— just a studio with a small toilet and kitchen. Rent was more than he expected for an apartment of this size, but Victor considers its close proximity to public transportation and refurbishment worth paying for.

Though small, the room feels empty and a little cold in light of the ordeal at the hotel. Victor attributes this to his dog's absence— luckily, she would be arriving in around a month. Makkachin never fails to soothe him, and he wishes desperately that she were there. It would be so easy to speak to her about everything with her furry weight like a protective blanket on his torso, but Victor has to redirect his troubles somewhere else for now.

Perhaps it's a decent time in Switzerland.

It was well past noon by the time he trekked uphill after a light lunch, and Victor's time zone estimation is rather accurate. To ensure that his call doesn't become Christophe's morning alarm, Victor burns some time by emptying his pockets onto the coffee table after hooking his umbrella onto the kitchen counter. He slips into more comfortable clothing. Reclining on his sofa, Victor puts a cushion on his belly to prop his phone up on.

For many years, Chris has been one of Victor's closest friends and colleagues— although they've grown apart geographically, Victor knows no better person to help make sense of the morning's events. It only takes a few rings for the video call to pick up— good, Christophe is already awake.

"Good morning, Chris." Victor greets cheerily, mustering a smile. His friend yawns dramatically.

"Even for you, disturbing my beauty sleep is a little much." Christophe jokes.

"Oh, I'm sorry— shall I leave you to fall asleep in your fried eggs?"

The camera lowers and Chris' deep purple bathrobe and bowl come into view. "It's _muesli_ , actually." Chris lifts his spoon to show off his milky, fibrous cereal. He delivers the mush into his mouth as though it's the most delectable thing in the world and Victor crinkles his nose just watching his friend eat. Victor's never developed a taste for breakfast foods that are reminiscent of textured wallpaper paste.

Chris chews laboriously before swallowing hard. "Ah, the pains one must go through for healthy bowel movements." The spoon plops back into the bowl as Christophe grins toothily. "But if you're calling, then you must have something more interesting than my breakfast for us to discuss. Does it have anything to do with why you look like you just ran a marathon?"

"That would be the humidity." Victor explains, glancing at the mirror image of himself at the bottom corner of his phone screen. He really does look like a wet dog— Victor brushes his damp bangs back with his fingers. "But yes— I went out last night, you see."

"Oh?" Christophe leans in, intrigued. "Are you having the time of your life in Hong Kong without me?"

Victor laughs. Perhaps earlier in his twenties, he would have— he was fond of Parisian nightlife and Chris had accompanied him to many bars. That was a long time ago, though. They've matured— as proven by the bowl of muesli in front of Christophe, among other things. "It was only a little exploring, nothing more. I went for a quiet dinner out."

"Surely it was more than just a quiet dinner. What else happened?"

How can Victor even begin to articulate the events of last night? Christophe is listening so intently that Victor would hate to disappoint. This story may not measure up to many of their nights out, but Victor will work with what he has.

"So," he pauses, looking up absentmindedly to make it seem like he's thinking. "I had just been seated at a table for two in a restaurant a few blocks away from my new apartment. I’d finished unpacking my things earlier that day, and I thought a little fresh air would be nice."

Chris hums, letting Victor know he's listening. "First week there, yes? Exciting."

"Oh, yes— it was quite the change." Victor notes. "Then I ordered some food and admired the ambience… until _he_ came along."

" _He?_ " Christophe inquires, riveted. "Victor Nikiforov, did you— in your _first week_ in Hong Kong..."

Victor raises his eyebrows mysteriously. His friend really is the most animated gossip. "So this man comes up to me."

"Ooh, what did he look like?"

"He was very handsome. A little shorter than I am, with glasses and the most _gorgeous_ brown eyes. Dark hair and nice strong eyebrows. You know how I like a good brow." Victor remarks, and Chris nods in understanding. "He had had a few drinks already, I could tell. He asked if I was alone, and I said that I wasn't— but what he said in _response_! He said that he should have known, because he didn't think anyone could stand up someone so beautiful. _Beautiful_ , Chris."

"There's a man who knows what he's talking about." Christophe chuckles warmly. "Although, wasn't there that banquet in Sochi—"

"Yes, but we're not talking about _that_." Victor points out, eager to get to the next part of his recounting. "Anyway, he tells me I'm beautiful— of course, flattered as I am, I thank him, and he actually _blushes_. It was so cute."

"You spent the night with him, didn't you? _Didn't you?"_ Chris guesses, eager to cut to the chase.

"He said 'good night' and walked away."

"No!"

Victor relishes the way his friend's mouth drops open, and tries not to laugh.

"It's the truth." Victor says, reminded of his own shock by Chris' astonishment. "I sat there for a while lamenting not talking to him more…" Trailing off for dramatic effect, Victor quirks an eyebrow. "And then he came _back_."

"He _came back?"_

"And introduced himself." Victor confirms. "But he was very bashful. He asked for my name, but only if I was okay with sharing. And— well, it's just my _name_ , so I tell him, and invite him to join me if he's alone."

"Ever a man of action, Victor." Christophe shakes his head with a smile.

"Well, he was cute." Victor replies defensively. "He got a text from his friend at the bar and I assume it was okay for him to join me, because he did. We talked for a while over dinner."

"An impromptu dinner date? Wow."

"He said he was a translator— he knows English, Cantonese, Japanese, _and_ Mandarin." Victor grins, remembering his and Yuuri's conversation. He loves talking to other multilingual people— how they approach languages is always compelling conversation. "So I told him that was impressive, and that I'd like to learn Chinese, but already know Russian and French."

"If you're not careful, _mon ami [2]_, you will end up with a tutor and not a date." Chris teases, propping his head up on one arm.

To be completely honest, Victor wouldn't mind having Yuuri as his personal Chinese tutor, but he waves that thought from his mind for the moment. Victor continues on. "Then, I asked if he likes White Russians."

"Oh no, not _that_ pick-up line! Really?"

"Yes, really." Victor says. "It's _funny_ , Christophe, and it works… Well, maybe not so much _this_ time, but-"

"You scared him away with your silly cocktail pick-up line, didn't you?"

" _No_ , I did not. He got to the punchline before I did."

Chris grins _the_ most mischievous grin. "What, he asked if you're Russian?"

Victor nods, smiling helplessly at the memory. "He asked if I was Russian then said, 'I mean, _it's not that I don't like Russians_.'"

"Oh my God."

"So I offer him a drink-"

"A White Russian, or _your_ 'White Russian'?" Chris snickers.

Victor sends his friend an incredulous look. "We'll get there, if you would just _listen_."

Christophe makes a noise akin to a squeal before miming the movement of zipping his lips shut.

"So we talked about how long we've been in Hong Kong, and-" Victor pauses, "-did I already say he has a nice butt? He had tight jeans on, so I saw it when he walked away the first time."

"Well, _of course_." Chris shrugs, upturning a palm. "I assume _all_ of Renown Ass Man Victor Nikiforov's hook-ups have good posteriors. But continue."

(Okay, maybe Victor does have a little bit of a bias.)

"I let him know he has an impressive physique, considering that he only goes between his work and home. With emphasis on _physique,_ of course."

Chris whistles lowly. "You were really going for him."

"He said his jeans help, and I agreed and said he must be aware of his own assets." Victor laughs, remembering the pun that had risen next. "Then _he_ agreed, and said 'yes, his _ass-_ ets.'"

" _Awful_."

"I know!" Victor agrees. The worst puns are always the best. "But then he _laughed_ , and I swear, Chris, I've never felt so entranced by someone's laughter. I wanted to make him laugh again."

"Oh, Victor…" Christophe tuts, exhaling through his nose. "You always were more sentimental than I am."

"I did manage to make him laugh again, though. I suppose he was already quite drunk by that time, but it was so _fun_." Victor sighs wistfully before he remembers something very important. "Did I mention he loves poodles?"

" _Zut [3]._" Chris claps a hand over his mouth.

"He _has_ one! Named "Vicchan" or something, I believe. A little coffee-colored toy poodle."

"He has a nice ass, nice laugh, _and_ a poodle? What are the odds?"

"I know! _I'm_ the only one I know with those three things." Victor jokes.

"I trust you've been keeping up with your squats, then." Chris winks, amused.

"Every day." He confirms. "And then his friend came over and made an excuse about feeling tired at _nine-thirty_. It was obviously to give us time alone. And then his friend tells me to ask about Yuuri's _dance moves_." Victor pauses, realizing he hasn't told Chris Yuuri's name yet. "That's the guy I was eating with."

"He _dances_?"

"He does, but he didn't seem to want to talk about it. So I asked if he wanted another drink, and we talked about… everything and nothing, really. It was nice."

"Aww."

"So we finish dinner, I get the check, and we find that it's raining outside." Victor says. Christophe seems to be paying more attention now. "It turns out Yuuri doesn't have an umbrella, and the rain is far too hard to just run through. I hoped that we would have to share the umbrella— I didn't want the night to end. And then I looked at Yuuri's face, and he seemed dissatisfied, too. He told me he only came over because of a bet he made with his friend… and then we're face to face under the umbrella, not really sure where to go next."

Chris sucks in a breath, nodding in anticipation.

"I asked if his friend will miss him for the night, and he asked if we're spending it together." Victor slows down, knowing that that Chris is hanging onto every word. "So _I_ asked if he'd like to… and then he _kissed_ me."

"Finally!" Chris exclaims. In his excitement, he nearly sends his spoon flying out of his hand, but fumbles it back into the bowl in front of him as Victor chuckles triumphantly.

"We ran through the rain to the hotel down the slope, I got us a room, and we went upstairs… Which brings me to why I called you."

"Oh?" Christophe furrows his brow, surprised by the sudden change in topic. "What happened?"

"This morning, I went to shower before Yuuri woke up, and when I came out he flew into a _panic_." Victor regales unhappily. "I don't know what I said or did— I said good morning, and he asked if we slept together, and I said yes, and he apologized and jumped out of bed and put his clothes on and _left_."

" _Quel salaud! [4]"_ Chris scoffs, offended on Victor's behalf. "He's not worth your time."

Victor hums ambiguously. There's no denying that Yuuri's behavior was rude, but it doesn't sit right with Victor to just write him off so simply. "He almost seemed… scared. Apologetic. He kept saying it must have been terrible when it _wasn't_. Do you see why I'm confused?"

They sit in silence for a few moments, processing the information.

"Well I still say he's an asshole." Chris declares. "In my experience, people who say sorry and leave so suddenly after sex are cheating on their partners-"

"I don't think that was it. It didn't… I don't…" Victor frowns. "That's not what it felt like."

Chris gives him a sympathetic look before sighing. "People are not as simple as it seems, my friend. It could be nothing, but it could be _everything_. You know this."

"I know that as well as you do." Victor purses his lips. "But he left _these_ behind."

"What?"

Victor takes the pair of blue framed glasses Yuuri had left in their hotel room from the coffee table and brings them into the view of his front phone camera. "His glasses. He left in such a hurry he forgot them."

Making a noise of acknowledgement, Christophe looks at the glasses and back up at Victor, raising an eyebrow.

"Shouldn't I at least _attempt_ to return them?" Victor asks innocently. "After all, they're glasses. They must be important."

"I'm sure he has a spare pair. Those don't look very expensive anyway." Chris points out, watching as Victor looks through the lenses.

"These are strong!" Victor remarks in surprise, eyes straining at the warped view through the glass. At this realization, he gasps. "Oh no. What if he got into an accident?"

"An accident?"

"Yes, without his glasses! How could he see where he was going?"

"I'm sure he got home just fine." Chris assures, adjusting his large, round eyeglasses. "And even if you want to return them, how will you find him again? Did he give you his number?"

"He... _no_." Victor sighs, letting his head fall back on the sofa armrest and resting his hand on his belly. "I didn't get to ask."

"You can't just sit around waiting on him. You might never see him again."

Victor frowns, staring up at the ceiling. "I'm sure he must live nearby. It's a small world, after all."

Chris takes an exceedingly long sip of his cranberry juice before leaning back in his chair with an exhale. "Hm… If you insist. From experience, I know there's no stopping you from trying to find him."

"It's not as though I'll be searching for him _actively._ I'll just be keeping an eye out for him."

"Of course." Christophe raises his eyebrows and nods quickly. "Just… keeping an eye out."

It's clear that Christophe doesn't quite believe Victor, but that's fine. Victor smiles in return, humming affirmatively. "Alright, that's enough about me. What have you been up to recently? Are you still pining over that brunette from Lugano?"

"It's been a long time since we talked, hasn't it?" Christophe wonders, camera moving as he takes his now-empty bowl to the sink before settling on his own chaise lounge. "We dated and broke up a while ago. It didn't work out between she and I— no hard feelings, though."

"That's a shame, I'm sorry."

Chris waves it off. "Don't be. I think the single life suits me— I'm free and independent, and I can have my morning muesli while sitting at my dining table in nothing but a robe."

"Why stop there?" Victor teases. "You could go _au naturel. [5]"_

"I would, if not for my fur baby." Christophe tuts. "She's due for a nail clipping soon."

"Fur baby?" Victor repeats, confused. "Ah, Jolie! I believe I tell you this every time, but your cat is the sole reason why I love cats."

"She's a true lady." Chris says proudly, tilting his head. "I should have trusted her when she wouldn't warm up to that brunette."

Victor nods grimly. "Always trust your pet."

"Indeed." Christophe agrees. He swings his legs off the lounge, sitting upright for his next topic. "Ah, Victor, here's an idea for you— about searching for Yuuri, I mean."

"Oh?" Victor lifts his head from the pillow, intrigued. "What might that be?"

"All you need to do is have Makkachin sniff his glasses and follow their lead. _Et voilà [6]_, you've found him and can… I don't know, punch him or kiss him, it's your call." Chris jokes, and Victor laughs at the prospect before his smile suddenly drops in mock devastation.

"But Makkachin won't even be here for another month!"

"Preserve the glasses! Put them in a plastic bag! Wait, don't _actually_ do that!" Chris adds through his laughter when Victor starts to get up and head for where the zip-locks are stored. Victor sits back down obediently, cheeks hurting with the last of his mirth.

"Well, I hope your darling poodle has a swift and smooth journey to you." Chris says. "It's been very nice to catch up with you, but I'm afraid I have plans in an hour I must prepare for."

"Yes, of course— I'm sorry for the impromptu call. Next time, we should meet in person. Perhaps you can visit me in Hong Kong!" Victor suggests.

Christophe promises to make plans to visit sometime— he's never been to Hong Kong, but it's been on his travel list for ages. Victor promises Chris a spot on his sofa for the duration of his stay. It's more of the thought that counts since they receive discounts for stays at their company's hotels. Conveniently, those are everywhere imaginable, including Hong Kong, and Christophe thanks Victor before turning the call off.

Victor takes one look at his battery percentage and yelps, running for his phone charger as soon as the lingering call screen disappears. It's honestly a miracle his phone has lasted this long.

 

* * *

 

Victor occupies himself for the rest of the afternoon, rearranging his things, reading, and catching up on the news until evening falls, his mind inevitably drifting towards reflection.

His call with Christophe that afternoon had helped his mood, but that momentary contact could only last so long. If Makkachin were around, things wouldn't be so lonely— but she isn't here. There's no one to distract Victor from his own thoughts, but maybe making dinner will help.

There's a part of his mind that stays alert as he prepares his meal in the narrow kitchen next to the front door. He picks up on many things— the glow of lit windows across the hillside at the back of his building, the chill breeze of the air conditioner, and, particularly, the noises of _people_.

When Victor stands close to his apartment's thin walls, he can hear his new neighbors. Someone must be holding a dinner party— there's a ruckus coming from the tenants to his right. As he stands at the stove, moving vegetables around in a sizzling pan, there's the sound of laughter somewhere through the tiled wall in front of him. _They're having a good time,_ he thinks idly to himself. It's disappointing that Victor has to live vicariously through his neighbors' laughter— it would be nice to have someone there to talk to as he cooks.

The cadence of conversation is distracting; in conversation, Victor can forget about introspection, forget about the state of his life. But moving to a new city— a new _continent_ — is undeniably frightening. He's always been of the _carpe diem [7]_ mentality, wanting to live fully and without regret. But with time, Victor has shied away from the glamor of luxurious parties and constant networking to… _real_ things. Things like seeing the world and its imperfections beyond the perfectly trimmed hedges and cloudless blue skies. Like meeting people from all walks of life. Like making them laugh and laughing, earnestly, in return.

That's why last night mattered so much to him. It wasn't perfect by any means— he'd set off in an odd mood, with the cloud-heavy sky looking the way his heart felt. Goosebumps had risen on his skin from the restaurant's frigid air conditioning, and there was too much seasoning on his veal. Despite everything, he found Yuuri— a much needed reminder that, despite Victor's past and present, it's not too late to _change_. That it's not too late to find new people and try new things. It was exhilarating.

But oh, how hard it can be to fall from that beautiful high.

Yuuri doesn't even know that Victor was upset by the morning's events. Part of him wants to let the experience roll off his back, as so many others have. But, unlike memories, Yuuri's forgotten glasses are a _physical_ reminder— a memento of both the night they shared and the morning that shattered that façade.

No, last night _couldn't_ have been some elaborate illusion. Victor knows it, but knowing it was all real is bittersweet.

Victor shakes his head, leaving his washed dishes in the rack beside the sink. It's unusual for him to feel so down over anything. His dampened spirits must have something to do with the sudden move, the change of climate, and the unfamiliar surroundings. Deeper inside, Victor's sure there are reasons even he can't place a finger on. That's just the way feelings are at times.

He crawls into bed early after a long, hot shower, exhausted and still unused to the sounds of nighttime traffic on the streets below his apartment.

In a perfect world, Victor's loneliness would be an illusion, and last night would be his reality. Just nights like that, over and over again, never dull or artificial like the rest of his routine. And in that perfect world, he wouldn't have work in the morning. He would be free to process everything and let the rawness dull before returning to the office.

Ironically, working in the hospitality industry isn't very hospitable. Emotions have no place there— if nothing else, Victor is a professional. He won't let this affect his performance.

Victor shifts onto his side, catching the form of Yuuri's plastic frames on his nightstand in the sliver of moonlight filtering through the gap between his curtains.

Chris could be right. The transience of his time with Yuuri could be for the better, and maybe the Yuuri of last night was all for show. There's the chance that, if Victor ever meets Yuuri again, his hopes of finding connection between them will crumble. But even the possibility of harm takes a backseat to this new feeling that wells up in Victor's chest and flutters around in his ribcage at the mere thought of reuniting with the man who so thoroughly swept Victor off his feet.

He doesn't know when and doesn't know how, but he has to see Yuuri again.

And next time, Victor will get his number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music for Victor, this entire chapter: [Somebody to Love by Queen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kijpcUv-b8M)
> 
> Yuuri's mood music is just someone screaming into a pillow for ten minutes and thirty-three seconds.
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter!
> 
> FOOTNOTES
> 
> 1 **Canto:** A colloquial shortened way of saying "Cantonese". [return to text]
> 
> 2 **Mon ami:** "My friend" in French.. [return to text]
> 
> 3 **Zut:** A French expression that's similar to "damn" or "shoot" in English. [return to text]
> 
> 4 **Quel salaud:** "What a bastard" in French. [return to text]
> 
> 5 **Au naturel:** Literally "all natural", which in this case means nude. [return to text]
> 
> 6 **Et voilà:** A French expression that means "And there you have it" or "And there it is". [return to text]
> 
> 7 **Carpe diem:** "Seize the day" in Latin. [return to text]

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> **Thanks for your comments and kudos, y'all! <3 <3**
> 
>  
> 
> **Hit me up on[tumblr](http://ingthing.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/ingthing) @ingthing!  
> **  
> 


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